Boxed In
by happycabbage75
Summary: When a ghost isn’t just a ghost... The normal methods aren’t working for Sam and Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Boxed In**

Summary: When a ghost isn't just a ghost… The normal methods aren't working for Sam and Dean.

Disclaimer: Not mine… Duh.

Chapter One

* * *

Dean moved forward, his gun at the ready, shoulder height. The pistol was hardly reassuring since he knew how little good it would do in this instance. Sam, a few feet behind him, would have better luck with the crossbow he was carrying.

"Remind me why I'm here again?" Dean whispered.

"Cause you're a humanitarian," Sam answered, barely paying attention to him. Dean could practically see his brother frowning in concentration as they continued to move through the house room by room.

"That's funny. I'm pretty sure you called me an anti-social bastard just yesterday." Dean held his breath and swung around a corner, letting it out again when he found the long hallway empty.

"Fine. You're a _closet_ humanitarian."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"An anti-social bastard who helps people he can't stand. Now shut up or it'll hear us," Sam snapped.

"Like it matters. It can smell us before we get within 200 yards," Dean said, pausing while he glanced into one of the open doors along the hall and then moving toward the next.

They continued their slow search down the hall until it finally opened into the wide high-ceilinged central room of the home. An enormous fireplace stood along the back wall, a semi-circle of overstuffed sofas and chairs around it. In the center of the room stood a man, casually dressed in jeans and a pullover sweater, watching them almost dispassionately. He was tall and dark-headed with sharp features, vaguely GQ looking.

The man remained perfectly still as they moved into the room, their weapons trained on him, and Dean nearly snorted. Sam was half right. He was a humanitarian, but only in the sense that he didn't really like things that weren't human. And this guy, still watching them patiently from where he stood, he wasn't human.

They were staying at 'Pleasant Hollow Bed & Breakfast' because of a newspaper article saying the owner had been attacked. The man claimed to have shot the unknown assailant repeatedly, but only succeeded in frightening him away.

It had only taken Sam and Dean a few shots the night before to verify that the owner wasn't lying or crazy. And it had only taken a minute or two after that to figure out it was a vampire. For something their father had thought extinct, there did seem to be a thriving little population. The guy had quickly decided he'd wandered into the wrong rec room and run for it. He was back now though, looking cool and collected.

"I'm not here for you," the man said, his voice loud and echoing in the wide space.

"Don't really care who you're here for," Dean replied, still easing farther into the room. "Can't let you kill anybody. Just one of my quirks."

The man tilted his head to one side, studying them. His eyes traveled from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Glad to hear it. I don't want to be hurt." Dean moved to the side, slightly separating himself from Sam, and the vampire's eyes tracked him instead of Sam. Interesting. Especially since Sam was the one with the crossbow. The guy had to be able to smell the dead man's blood on the bolt. Even Dean could smell the rancid stuff.

The vampire had yet to move even a muscle. There was something about the way he held himself though. Dean could tell he knew how to fight. More than that. Here was a hunter and not just because of what he was. He'd had training. Professional training. _Great_.

And the vampire was still watching him. Which meant he'd decided that even though Dean was only carrying a gun and not the poisoned crossbow, he was still the bigger threat.

"Where is Andrew? I know he's here somewhere. I can smell him," the vampire said, his expression one of distaste. He began slowly moving toward one side angling closer to them.

Andrew was the owner. He had hopefully locked himself in his room like they'd told him to as soon as they'd heard movement downstairs. Dean didn't know what the vampire had against the man, but he clearly wanted him dead.

To be honest, Dean wasn't overly fond of the guy either. In fact he was pretty sure Andrew was a real ass. Last night, he'd screamed and yelled at them to get out, called them crazy. Dean was certain he'd been about to punch Sam at one point. It was only after they'd scared the vampire off for him that Andrew had begrudgingly given them a room. Yeah, he was a real sweetie-pie, but that didn't mean they could let something kill him.

With less than a second's warning, the vampire threw himself to one side behind a sofa, falling lengthwise, the sofa blocking Sam's shot. He was strong as an ox and the jump had placed his outstretched hands right at Dean's feet. Dean managed to fire once, but as expected it had almost no effect and with one quick tug to Dean's ankle, the vampire brought him down.

Dean cracked the back of his head on the hardwood floor, but managed to hold onto his gun. He rolled to the side trying to get away. The vampire was faster and grabbed his wrist and twisted, hard, pinching the nerve and forcing Dean to drop the gun. Two seconds later, he twisted harder, using his other hand to block Dean's elbow so it couldn't bend, then simultaneously pulled as he twisted. Dean cried out, the pop audible when his shoulder dislocated.

Nearly blinded by the screaming pain, Dean jerked away, falling to the floor, knowing he only needed a second for Sam to get a clear shot. He heard the twang of the crossbow firing, followed by a short grunt. The vampire fell to the floor beside him, the crossbow bolt protruding from his chest, the dead man's blood already working its way through his system.

Dean fought back the stars he was seeing and used his good arm to push himself to his feet and away from the vamp. He swayed and felt Sam grab him to keep him from falling. Dean looked up and realized Sam was talking to him, but his ears were ringing and he frowned trying to make sense of it. _Holy crap_, but his shoulder hurt. His head too now that he thought of it.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean nodded as his hearing returned and the world around him stopped moving. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he said, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, trying to ignore his dislocated shoulder, his arm hanging uselessly. They'd have to go to the ER. This wasn't _Lethal Weapon_ and he wasn't Riggs, not that he would ever admit it.

Dean moved to stand over the vampire who was struggling to his knees, fighting the weakness caused by the poison. Dean kicked his gun out of the man's reach and pulled the knife from the long sheath attached to his belt, sitting horizontally along his lower back. It was closer to a machete, heavy, razor sharp and just right for the job.

"It didn't need to be this way," the vampire hissed. "_This is your fault_."

"It always is." Dean raised the machete high and brought it down putting his full weight behind the blow.

* * *

_The end… Just kidding! More tomorrow._


	2. Chapter 2

**Boxed In**

Summary: When a ghost isn't just a ghost… The normal methods aren't working for Sam and Dean.

_Thank you for the kind reviews. Now on to…_

Chapter Two

* * *

Sam watched worriedly as Dean stared down at the now decapitated body. He could only imagine how badly taking off the vampire's head had hurt. His brother had been working one handed and it had required three good swings to remove it, Dean gasping painfully with each blow.

Sam could see that Dean's shoulder was badly dislocated. They would have to go to the ER. This wasn't _Lethal Weapon_ and Dean wasn't Riggs, not that Dean would ever admit it.

Resetting dislocated shoulders was just one of those things Sam didn't do unless necessary. It was excruciatingly painful and best done under anesthesia. The Winchesters were macho, but they weren't insane. Besides, dislocated shoulders were easy enough to explain.

Dean continued to stare down at the body as the pool of blood spread outward over the old wooden floorboards. The bed and breakfast had been built sometime in the distant past and the dry wood was soaking up the blood. Andrew, the owner, was not going to be happy. He would never be able to remove the stains. He'd have to rip up the boards.

"Sorry, dude." Dean nudged the head with his foot. "There can be only one."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean must have caught the movement because he looked up.

"What? _Highlander_ was an awesome movie." He leaned down and grabbed the body by the scruff of the neck with his good arm and began pulling it toward the French doors at the back of the room leading outside, leaving a trail of blood behind him. "Sam, grab his head. We need to burn him outside."

"Dean, let me do that," Sam offered, seeing Dean stumble under the weight as it pulled on the muscles in his back and shoulders. Sam knew adrenaline was keeping the worst of the pain at bay, but it had to be wearing off. Dean shifted, walking backward, so that what he was doing didn't move his other arm.

"I got it," Dean grunted, then gave him a strained grin. "You just don't wanna carry the guy's head. Don't worry. He won't bite."

Sam quickly suppressed any further feelings of sympathy. He'd been wrong. Dean was both macho _and_ insane. His blood-spattered clothing and twisted shoulder only added to the image of an escapee from an asylum.

Fighting down the bile that rose in his throat, Sam bent down, picked up the head by the hair and started after Dean. Unfortunately, the bed and breakfast owner chose that moment to walk into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks and Sam could only imagine what the guy was thinking. He had a man in his living room holding a severed head and the room itself looked like an abattoir. Nothing like arterial spray to redecorate.

"Wh… what happened?" Andrew asked, looking dazed.

"We got him," Sam answered unnecessarily, trying to seem nonchalant about carrying someone's head.

Dean came back through the open French doors, pale, sweaty and breathing heavily. He was trying to stand up straight, despite his clearly misshapen shoulder, holding his injured arm with the other to keep it from moving. "Sam? What's the hold-up?" He too stopped and looked around the room at the sight of the owner. "Andrew... Uhh..." Dean grimaced. "If I were you, I'd see about a bucket and maybe a truckload of Pine-Sol."

The businessman's face slowly changed from shock to absolute fury. "What have you two done?" he roared. "You... You cut his head off? The… the police… How am I supposed to explain this?"

Dean shook his head and held out a placating hand. In order to do so he had to let go of his other arm and Sam guessed that the pain made him answer more harshly than he'd intended. "Andrew, you understood what we told you, right? He wasn't human. You shot him yourself and it didn't do any good. Sam and I... We did what needed to be done."

"Look at this room," the man shouted, clearly not having heard a word. "Get out! Both of you! Get out of my house!"

"Andrew…"

"Get out! GET. OUT! You did this! This is your fault!"

"So I hear," Dean muttered to himself. He nervously scrubbed through his hair and Sam saw him wince. Must have hit his head when the vamp tripped him. "Sam, get the bags," he finally said. "I'll take care of the vamp and meet you at the car."

"What do you mean take care of him?" Andrew demanded. He gasped as Sam threw the head and Dean caught it one handed, grunting as the movement jostled his shoulder.

"I'm gonna burn it," Dean said through clenched teeth. "And since you've been so _helpful_, next time something tries to kill you, make sure you call the Ghostbusters. Cause at this point, I'm really not caring if something eats you. Ok?"

With as much dignity as a man in pain could muster, Dean left via the rear doors. Almost immediately Sam smelled gasoline and he had the unfortunate impression that Dean was about to burn the vampire in Andrew's carefully manicured rose garden just outside the doors.

Good rule of thumb, Sam thought as he climbed the stairs to get their duffel bags. Don't tick off the guy who's about to burn a corpse in your yard. He'll screw up your landscaping.

* * *

Sam dozed quietly in the ER waiting room. After leaving the house, they'd stopped just long enough for Dean to change his blood stained clothing which had required Sam's help, several minutes of swearing and Dean nearly blacking out while they cut off his t-shirt and removed it. Finally they had just decided to drape a jacket around Dean's shoulders until he could be seen to.

That had been over three hours ago, most of which had been spent sitting silently waiting for their turn with the doctor. For once Dean had remained perfectly still if only out of self-preservation since movement at all was agony.

Half an hour ago they'd finally taken him to the back. From experience Sam knew they would knock his brother out just enough to be under, they'd pop the joint back in and then they'd wake him right back up. It only took a few minutes. Sam had no doubt Dean was now somewhere in the hospital alternating between flirting with every nurse between 20 and 60 and grousing at the doctors.

"So you're staying out at the bed and breakfast?"

Sam opened his eyes and straightened in his chair. A blond middle-aged woman in scrubs sat down beside him. He couldn't tell if she was a nurse or not. You couldn't anymore. Everyone from the clerk who took your information to the RNs wore the same multi-colored clothes.

"We were," Sam answered her.

"How is Andrew doing?" she asked. Her expression was concerned yet embarrassed that she was asking a complete stranger. "We saw in the paper that someone broke in and attacked him."

"He's… fine," Sam said, "A little shaken up, of course." Understatement of the decade, he silently added.

"Poor man," she clucked sympathetically. "If he didn't have bad luck he'd have no luck at all."

"Oh?" Sam mentally sighed, realizing what this was. The hospital gossip had found out where they'd been staying and latched onto him for information. Normally the woman would have been pure gold in their line of work, but right now he was tired and the job was already over.

She leaned closer. "He never was the same after his wife left him."

Sam only had to raise his eyebrows. This kind of gossip required minimal input. 'Uh-huh', 'oh' and 'really' would keep her going for hours.

"She took off with their son. Years ago now. Andrew was never the same after that."

"Uh huh."

"Just couldn't believe that she would leave him, if you ask me."

"Really."

She nodded with certainty. "He never was very nice to her. Very hard to get along with. Why, my husband…"

"He never remarried?" Sam asked, cutting off what he had no doubt would be a long and tangential story.

The woman shook her head. "No. Never did. Blames himself for her leaving, I think, and he's never seen his son since. Of course, Andrew's always had trouble keeping the B&B afloat and now the poor man is attacked." Her eyes were expectant, hoping for some dirt to add to her repertoire. Sam knew that anything he said and then some would be passed on with gusto.

"Laura?"

The gossip looked up guiltily to find the woman who was probably her supervisor glaring at her.

"You're needed in room three."

"We'll talk later," she said and Sam thought it was closer to a threat. After another glare from her boss, the woman stood, giving him an apologetic smile and bustled away.

In relief, Sam sagged back down into the uncomfortable chair. Didn't matter about Andrew. The job was over. So what if the guy was a jerk and his wife had left him. He stretched out his long legs and resettled his head back against the wall. Waiting room chairs just weren't meant for anyone over four feet tall. Still, as ER visits went, this one was bearable. The doctor would pop the shoulder back in, they would go to a hotel, Dean would be surly for a few days until the soreness faded and that would be that.

Sam heard a buzz start at one end of the ER and move toward them. It was a quiet commotion, a fluttering of quiet conversations. Without even having to look, Sam knew that Dean was walking toward him. Sam opened his eyes and as he'd guessed Dean was walking past the long desk running one side of the ER nodding and smiling to the various women as he caught their eye and moved past. He was wearing the fresh t-shirt they'd brought with them as well as his leather jacket, though one side was only resting over his shoulder, his arm in a sling.

Dean stopped in front of Sam and threw a small plastic bag into his lap.

"What's this?"

"Pills. They gave me some free samples," he answered.

"How'd you manage that?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Dean grinned, though Sam noted it was slightly forced. "I said I was a homeless bum living on the kindness of strangers."

"You winked at one of the nurses, didn't you?"

"Dude, as if I would stoop…" Dean said, a wounded expression on his face, then the grin quickly reappeared. "Actually, it was the doctor. Nice lady."

"Uh huh," Sam said, getting to his feet and stretching. He stuffed the pills in his pocket and nearly jumped when his cell phone rang. No one ever called him except Dean.

"You got a girlfriend I don't know about?" Dean asked.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and looked at the display. "It's Andrew," he frowned.

Dean scowled. "What does he want now? If he's calling to complain some more, I'll burn the rest of his yard."

Sam opened the phone and they immediately heard screaming. Heads turned their way, hearing the shrill cries.

"Andrew?" Sam shouted trying to be heard over the yelling. The only answer was more unintelligible shouting. "Andrew, talk to me," Sam ordered.

"S… Help… he… kill her…"

The line abruptly died.

"Sam, you hear the static?" Dean asked, already heading for the door.

"Yeah, I heard it," Sam answered grimly. More heads turned and watched as he and Dean ran out the wide emergency room doors and into the dark.

* * *

_Site willing, more tomorrow…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Boxed In**

Summary: When a ghost isn't just a ghost… The usual methods aren't working for Sam and Dean.

_Thank you kindly for the reviews. Hope this answers a few questions…_

Chapter Three

* * *

"All right. What do we know about Andrew?" Dean said, driving one handed and faster than was technically safe. "Cause we've clearly got more going on here than we ought to. One dead vampire should equal job over." 

"Should," Sam said, thinking furiously. "We just didn't have enough time to look into anything."

"It's not like it was overly complicated," Dean shot back. "We drove in, there was something attacking Andrew, we figured out what it was and we killed it, end of story."

"That's great, Dean. Except now Andrew is calling us screaming only a few hours after he threw us out."

Dean slammed on the brakes to make a sharp corner and Sam wondered if he shouldn't have taken the keys. It might have caused a fist fight in the ER parking lot, but at least they'd get there alive.

"He said 'killing her'," Dean frowned. "Andrew's not married, is he?"

Sam shook his head. "He was, but she ditched him years ago."

Dean snorted. "Can't imagine why."

"Maybe he has someone who helps him with the bed & breakfast." Sam shrugged. "It's a huge place. He'd need help keeping it clean, feeding the guests."

"Yeah, but why would she be there in the middle of the night?" Dean asked. Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean immediately shook his head. "Ok, stupid question."

"So basically we're going in blind," Sam said.

Dean sighed. "Looks like."

They fell silent as they drove down the long lane to the house. There were a few lights on as they approached, but there didn't appear to be anything amiss.

Just as Dean brought the car to a halt, the front door burst open and Andrew flew out, looking behind him as if the devil himself were on his tail. Sam hurried out of the car and stepped into his path, stopping Andrew's panicked flight. He fought to free himself, but Sam held him firmly.

"Andrew," Sam almost had to shake the man to get him to look at him. "What happened?"

Sam heard the creak of the trunk as it opened and he knew Dean would be rummaging for weapons, though neither of them was certain of what they were up against. So far nothing else had come out the door.

"Sam?" Andrew said distractedly, once again looking back toward the house in horror. "I… You said you killed him!"

Sam frowned in confusion. "We did," he said. "Is there another vampire?" There was always the possibility of another one. They tended to move in groups. Just because they hadn't seen any others didn't mean they weren't there.

"No!" the man said, shaking his head vehemently. "It's him! I thought you said he was dead! He's… He's going to kill her! He'll kill both of them! You've got to stop him!"

"Kill who?" Dean demanded, reappearing from the back of the car. "Who else is here, Andrew?"

Again Andrew turned and looked at the darkened home, as if torn, wanting to run back in and run away at the same time. "M… my wife," he finally said. "It's my wife… my son."

"I thought they left years ago," Sam frowned.

"They did," he said. "They're… they're gone now."

"They're gone, but they're here?" Dean asked in confusion and Andrew nodded dumbly.

"They're…" Andrew's eyes were wide and terrified as he turned again to look at the house. "They…"

Sam looked at Dean as an awful thought struck him. He could see when the same suspicion struck his brother.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean said angrily. "Andrew, gone as in moved to Ohio or gone as in dead?" he asked, giving the man no room to prevaricate.

"Dead," the man almost shouted. "They're dead!"

"So we've got a dead vampire and your dead family?" Dean pressed, as if trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

"You're sure it's the same guy who attacked you before?" Sam asked.

Andrew just kept nodding blindly.

"How is that possible?" Dean snapped. "I took its head off. I burned the body."

An unearthly scream came from inside, echoing through the trees surrounding the house, the sound encircling them. Dean handed Sam a handgun, which he quickly tucked into his waistband, and then the crossbow just in case it was a different vampire. Sam noted that Dean had shrugged off his leather jacket and the sling, knowing he might need to move, and was now carrying his preferred sawed-off shotgun. Dean was always happier with Marigold in hand and it sounded like they might need the rock salt.

Another scream came from the house, more high-pitched and desperate than the first. Dean looked at Andrew and pointed to the car, "You stay here."

Sam led the way this time, knowing Dean couldn't afford to be knocked around anymore. Following the same path they had earlier, they moved through several rooms and then finally down the long hallway toward the huge central living room where the noise was coming from.

As they entered, they both stopped and stood stock still. Andrew had been right. It was the same vampire, the same dark-headed, vaguely GQ looking guy that they'd killed only a few hours ago. Sam doubted the blood on the floorboards was even dry.

A ghost vampire? Was that even possible?

The man's ghostly figure flickered angrily as he looked up and saw them. In front of him was a woman who stood a foot shorter, wearing clothes and a hairstyle from fifteen years earlier. She looked at them, her eyes pleading. He had both hands around her upper arms, holding her firmly in place.

The woman was frightened and very, very dead. Trying to free herself, she twisted and writhed, her body moving and reshaping the way no actual body was capable of. She had a new wound on her gray neck and they knew that the vampire had bitten her. A live vampire took blood from living things. What did a dead vampire need?

Sam looked to Dean, completely unsure of how to proceed. A ghost, who frankly had no right to be a ghost in the first place, holding another ghost hostage was out of his realm of experience.

Dean held out his shotgun one-handed and fired, spraying salt in a cloud around both ghosts. The woman instantly disappeared, but the ghostly vampire did not. He simply lowered the hands that had been holding the woman back to his sides and then a smile spread across his face that could only be called predatory.

"Crap," was all Dean said and Sam had to agree.

"Judging from the looks on your faces," the vampire said coolly, "that was not the result you were hoping for." He took a step toward them, his eyes narrowing. "_Good_."

* * *

_More tomorrow…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Boxed In**

Summary: When a ghost isn't just a ghost… The normal methods aren't working for Sam and Dean.

_Many thanks for the reviews. A few more answers here for ya about what that wacky ghost vampire's up to…_

Chapter Four

* * *

Sam fired the crossbow daring to hope, but it was useless. The crossbow bolt passed straight through the vampire's ghost and imbedded itself in the wall behind him.

"Any other bright ideas?" Dean asked as the vampire took another step toward them. "Cause I'm fresh out."

Sam thought furiously. Rock salt, dead man's blood, decapitation and they'd burned the body. By all rights, the vampire should be gone several times over. "Yeah, I got nothin'."

"Terrific." Dean took another step back as the ghost advanced and Sam noted that once again, the vampire's attention was centered on Dean. He tried not to take it personally. Dean had taken the guy's head off after all.

"Where is Andrew?" the vampire demanded, his hollow voice echoing in the room.

"Why do you care?" Dean asked warily.

"We have unfinished business," it answered, its tone devoid of emotion. "He must be dealt with and you two interfered. Now where is he?"

Dean frowned. "I'm getting a bad case of déjà vu here. I'm pretty sure this is the part where I say I can't let you kill him."

"He cannot live. You can't allow such an injustice. It isn't in you."

Dean gave a little shake of his head, clearly confused. "Uhh… ok. I still don't like monsters chewing on people they shouldn't."

"But what if it is on people they should?" the vampire growled.

"Come again?"

The vampire started moving again, to the side this time as if to circle them. Sam and Dean both tracked him, turning so that they remained facing him as he moved.

"Who are you?" Sam asked. No better way to get information than to simply ask.

"My name is Morgan," the vampire said simply, still circling them.

"Why do you want Andrew dead?" Dean's brow was furrowed in concentration.

The man cocked his head to one side. "Perhaps you should introduce yourselves and then we can come to some sort of… arrangement."

"Dean, Sam," Dean grunted, nodded vaguely in Sam's direction.

"More to the point, _what_ are you?" Morgan eyed them.

"I think that's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Dean said dryly. He cracked open the shotgun and re-loaded it, though why Sam wasn't sure. Salt certainly wasn't doing them any good.

"You hunt things like me," the vampire affirmed, his ghostly hollow voice echoing in the room again, making the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand up. Neither brother bothered to respond. Morgan changed directions, circling the opposite way. "I am a hunter too."

Dean snorted, drawing a glare from the vampire. "Yeah, we know."

"I have always been a hunter… Long before I was," Morgan gestured vaguely to himself, "_this_. I was a policeman."

"A cop?" Sam asked. This was the weirdest conversation to be having. But since they didn't seem to have a way to get rid of the ghost, then talking was about all they could do.

"A good one. There was nothing I enjoyed more than figuring out who'd committed the crime, tracking him down, locking him up. And then one day I came across the wrong man, a killer that had an unfair advantage."

"What is this? _Interview with the Vampire_?" Dean snapped. "I don't _care_."

"You should," Morgan snarled. "It will become very important shortly. You see, a policeman has to deal with certain realities. One of them is that you can't catch them all. Another is that even when you catch them, sometimes despite everything you do, they get away scot free. You understand?"

Sam dared a glance at his brother. Dean's face was stony. Oh, yeah, he understood. They both did.

"When I became this…" he made the vague gesture to himself again, "I was faced with a problem."

"Dental insurance?"

"Living," the man said simply. "I didn't want to die, but I didn't want to kill."

Dean groaned. "This IS _Interview with the Vampire_. The GQ look should have been a dead giveaway. Sam, he thinks he's Brad Pitt."

"Dean, are you trying to get him to kill us?" Sam hissed.

"No," Dean said, the levity leaving his tone. "He's leading up to something." His eyes narrowed. "He wants us to know something."

Morgan smiled cruelly. "I knew you were smarter than you looked."

"The jury's still out on you, Brad," Dean stated flatly. "Now let's move this along. You were giving us the 'I'm a vampire that doesn't want to kill' speech."

"I want to live. In order to live I have to kill." The man's expression became frighteningly aggressive and Sam saw Dean's grip on the shotgun tighten. "But I decided that I would kill those that for some reason or another were beyond the law's reach. I assure you," his expression was vicious, "I have never gone hungry."

"So you came here for Andrew," Sam stated, the situation finally dawning on him.

"I did." The vampire's ghost flickered in irritation. "And you got in my way. I do not appreciate the interference. This situation is _your_ fault," he eyed Dean, "and you must rectify it."

"You're a _vampire_!" Dean shouted, so angrily that Sam started. "Don't pretend I wasn't doing my _job_!"

"The basement," the vampire replied, as if he hadn't spoken.

"What?" Dean said, coming up short.

"Look in the basement."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Andrew's family _left_ years ago. And yet when he spoke with you he was quite certain they were dead," the man stated. "Why do you imagine that is?"

Sam felt a terrible idea crawl through his mind. He'd known something was wrong, but he'd been too distracted to think about it. Dean didn't look happy either.

"The basement," the vampire said again, pointing back down the hallway where they had come in. "And then we will talk." In a blink, the ghost had disappeared.

Wordlessly, they hurried to the hallway, quickly finding the door that lead down to the basement. After flipping a switch just inside the door, Dean led the way, shotgun at the ready as they descended the long set of stairs. When they reached the bottom, Sam once again felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Dean, he noticed, shifted as a slight shiver ran down his spine.

"Where's the EMF when you need it?" he muttered.

"I'm pretty sure it would be blinking like a Christmas tree," Sam replied. "You see anything?"

Unlike most of the places they went, the basement was well lit and appeared well kept. Looking around there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary or anything out of place. Still… there was something in the air. It was almost oppressive. They could both feel it.

Sam following a step behind Dean, they quickly worked their way through the huge basement, finally coming to the farthest room. The padlock had been broken off of a worn, but recently painted wooden door which was standing open. Dean flipped on the light switch just to the right of the door and the interior was dimly illuminated by one bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. Unlike the rest of the basement, the floor in this smaller room was dirt. The walls were scratched and stained and a few bits of dark rock still littered the ground.

"The old coal chute," Sam said, pointing high on the far wall where the opening had been boarded up after a modern heating system had been installed.

Dean only shook his head. "No. It's an old graveyard."

Sam's gaze dropped to the floor as he stepped around Dean to see what his brother was seeing.

Two decayed bodies, sitting in the corner. A woman and a child, a boy judging from the clothes, probably 10 years old. The woman's arms were wrapped protectively around the boy for all the good it had done. Their clothes were both stained, brown stains now, but Sam knew they had been bright red when they were fresh.

Sam turned and looked back at Dean. His face was pale, his eyes locked on the two bodies. His expression was blank, almost in shock, but Sam could see the horror of it in his eyes.

Slowly those eyes turned upward almost as if he could see through the ceiling. "Andrew," Dean said coldly, "I think we need to talk."

* * *

_If I make it through tonight's episode alive, more tomorrow…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Boxed In**

_I have to call the Lafayette PD almost nightly for my work… I can't tell you what a dorky urge I had to call last night and ask if someone named Gordon had been arrested. You'll be glad to know that I refrained…_

_Right. Back to the ghosts._

Chapter Five

* * *

"Ugly, isn't it?"

Sam and Dean both whirled to see the twice-dead vampire standing in the doorway. Dean had to force himself not to look back to the pair huddled together on the floor. Ugly wasn't the word for what had been done to them. Pathetic. Disgusting. _Evil_. And the woman had died, still trying to protect her child to the last, holding him in her arms.

A mother and child. It was inviolate. It was beauty. It was love. It was _never_ to be touched.

"The child probably died first," Morgan offered, studying Dean, "and then the woman."

"What happened to them?" Sam asked, and Dean heard a tremble in his brother's voice. He hardly dared speak, knowing his own would do the same.

"Look for yourselves," the vampire said gravely.

Sam turned troubled eyes back to the bodies, but didn't move. Fighting back nausea, Dean knew it would have to be him. He knelt beside the desiccated remains and carefully set his shotgun, Marigold, down beside him. He held out his hands, but paused, hovering barely an inch from the bodies, unsure of where to touch, almost afraid that by touching them he would hurt them more. Every instinct told him it was sacrilege to separate the two. With shaking fingers, he moved them just far enough so that he could see. Dean winced as the pressure caused the bones to crack loudly in the silence.

"He shot them," Dean whispered. "He shot them and locked them in this room to die."

"I think the child was already dead," Morgan stated dispassionately. "Just an opinion judging from the wounds. He would have died quickly. The woman probably lasted longer."

"And they've been in this house ever since?" Sam asked. "The ghosts, I mean. With him?"

The vampire ghost nodded, a sudden flickering the only sign of his agitation. "Hardly seems right, does it?" he said flatly. "It seems like something ought to be done. Don't you agree?"

"You could have told the police," Sam said angrily. "The bodies are in plain sight. Andrew would have gone to jail."

"I suppose," was the answer. "But really… Andrew's had 15 years of freedom. I think he needs to pay."

Dean stood, still looking down at the tortured bodies. His hands were gritty and he fought the urge to wipe them on his jeans. Instead he grabbed Marigold and turned to look at the ghost, his eyes narrowing. The vampire was acting as if his murderous intentions were noble and a justified defense of the dead woman, but there was one problem. "You bit her."

"Yes?" the vampire said, unperturbed.

"You. Bit. Her," Dean said again. "Upstairs. The ghost."

The vampire's cruel smile returned and it was an ugly sight to behold. It made Dean want to unload every weapon he owned into that smiling face whether it did any good or not.

"And now we come to the heart of the matter," it said.

Sam and Dean only stood silently.

"As I said before, I want to live," Morgan began. "A vampire requires blood. Andrew was going to provide it. Now thanks to you two, I am something else and it appears only a ghost can offer what I need. Before I drew life, now I draw their death. Unfortunately, the woman and child are all that are here and I doubt, even with judicious use, they will last very long."

All of Dean's muscles were tight and he ordered himself to loosen them. His shoulder was screaming from its ill use. "So it's ok for _you_ to kill a family, but not Andrew?" Dean demanded furiously. So what if they were ghosts?

The vampire stared at Dean like a wolf staring at a little lost lamb. "A predator trying to survive… The natural order of a stronger animal killing a weaker animal to survive, to live… That is one thing. Sadism is another. A man who will beat his wife and child, kill them, just because that's how he proves to himself he's a man… That must be punished."

"Beat them?" Dean asked, through his suddenly constricted throat.

"I looked into the records. The boy was very prone to _accidents_. So was the woman," the ghost said. "The hospital called the police several times when it was more obvious there was a problem, but nothing ever came of it. And then one day, they just disappeared."

"The police look into it?"

"Of course," the vampire said, clearly incensed on behalf of his law-enforcement brethren. "They suspected Andrew. I spoke with one officer who was absolutely certain he had killed them. There was no way to prove it though. They had no reason to search the home. The woman's car was missing and most of the town assumed she had run away with her son. But as you can see, they never left this house. Just one more abusive bastard and a wife that didn't know how to leave him."

Dean's eyes traveled back to the huddled pair on the floor, pain and betrayal still written on the woman's dead features. "I won't let you hurt her, hurt either of them," he stated. "Survival or not."

"No matter what happens here, I can't survive," the vampire said. "With only the two of them… A limited food source wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't," Dean answered flatly.

Morgan ignored him. "One way or another, I will die."

"And?"

"And Andrew is unfinished business," Morgan said. "I need it taken care of, so I will make you a deal." He looked intently at Dean. "You take care of Andrew for me and I will allow you to see to the woman and child."

"And if we try to see to them first?" Sam asked.

"I'll suck them both dry until their screams ring in your ears," the vampire said plainly.

"But…"

Morgan's figure began to flicker in and out. "Kill Andrew," he said, "and the rest will take care of itself." The ghost flickered one more time and he disappeared.

"What do we do?" Sam whispered into the stunned silence.

"I don't know, but I'm never watching _Interview with the Vampire_ again," Dean said, running a hand through his hair, wincing as he inadvertently touched the spot he'd hit on the floor. "Anne Rice can kiss my… You know what? Anne Rice better not come anywhere freakin' near me."

"Dean…" Sam growled in annoyance. He turned to look at Dean and his eyes widened as he looked past him. Dean spun and saw Andrew standing in the doorway, a revolver pointed in their direction.

"I really wish you hadn't seen this."

"If it makes you feel any better," Dean said, "so do I." He doubted he would ever be able to forget the sight of the woman cradling the dead child in her arms. He was standing in between Andrew and Sam, partially blocking his brother and he had great hopes Sam was going for his own gun.

"Hand over the shotgun," Andrew ordered, holding out his free hand for it.

Dean blinked in surprise. Everyone knew you didn't ask someone to _hand_ you the gun. It was way too easy for them to shoot you while they 'handed' it to you. You asked them to put it on the ground and back away from it. It was in the how-to-disarm-your-opponent handbook. Dean was sure of it.

Stepping forward Dean held Marigold out so that Andrew could reach for her. The second his eyes dropped to the gun to take it, Dean sprang. He grabbed Andrew's revolver with his other hand, immediately twisting it so that it was facing away. The weapon fired, harmlessly taking a chunk out of the cement block wall.

They stood, locked arm to arm, each fighting to hold onto their own gun and pry the gun away from the other. Andrew knew about Dean's dislocated shoulder. He pulled Dean toward him using both of his arms and rammed his own shoulder into Dean's. Staggered by the sudden pain radiating from his strained muscles, Dean stumbled just managing to maintain his grip on Marigold.

"Dean, get back!" Sam shouted.

Dean instinctively obeyed, letting go of the man, and moved back, but Andrew kept a grip on the sawed-off shotgun. Just as Dean heard Sam fire, Andrew jerked on Marigold, pulling him back where he had been.

Pulling him into the line of fire.

Dean fell heavily to the floor, half turning from the force of the bullet, half from the residual force of Andrew pulling on the shotgun Dean was still gripping like a lifeline.

He heard Andrew move backwards out of the door and shut it quickly before pulling something heavy in front of it to keep it closed.

Some days, Dean thought absently, he really wished he was an accountant.

* * *

_More tomorrow…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Boxed In**

Summary: When a ghost isn't just a ghost… The normal methods aren't working for Sam and Dean.

_Sam had just shot Dean and the bad guys were getting away, so on we go…_

Chapter Six

* * *

Dean lay on the ground, fire burning across his ribs. Slowly, he felt the more soothing warmth of blood as it soaked through his shirt. He really doubted it was too serious. In a life that at the moment seemed both too short and too long, he'd had enough injuries that he knew what was serious and what wasn't. It was probably no more than a glancing shot across his ribs.

Dean felt more than saw Sam kneel beside him. He didn't bother to look. Instead he remained quietly staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to talk to Sam right now. He didn't even wish that he could somehow talk to his father. Of all the sorry and pathetic things he could think of... right at this moment, when every breath he took was agony, all he wanted was his mother. Maybe it was the dead woman huddled in the corner with her son still in her protective embrace, but Dean wanted his mom. He wanted to see her. To have her put her arms around him, brush her hand through his hair, kiss him and tell him it was going to be all right.

For all that he had relied on his father, he had never been a great comfort to him. He had been strength, purpose, order, protection even, but never really comfort. Dean remembered so little of his mother. Only vague memories, a vague sense of what she had meant to him. A comfort when he'd been hurt or frightened. Someone to kiss away his pain. But Dad was gone now. And she was gone.

Now all he had left was Sam. Who'd just shot him. How was that for luck?

Dean knew he should say something. Tell Sam it was all right. That it had been an accident.

"So," Dean cleared his suddenly dry throat. "Something tells me we need to go over those gun safety rules again."

"Dean..."

He finally looked at his brother's pale features.

"I'm so sorry... Dean, I..."

He took pity on him. What else could he do when the kid was looking so stricken?

"Sammy, you shoot me on purpose?"

"No!" Sam said, horrified. "I…"

"Then why are you sorry?" Dean asked, annoyed at how breathy and rough-voiced he sounded.

"I didn't mean to…" Sam trailed off. He looked grief-stricken, stunned, frozen.

"Dude, how about you not let me bleed to death and we'll call it even," Dean offered weakly.

He felt Sam put both of his hands against his side, putting pressure on the wound. He was pressing hard and Dean winced, though he knew it was necessary. They remained that way for several minutes in silence. It would take that long for the bleeding to slow under constant pressure. Dean closed his eyes and chose to simply concentrate on his breathing. The human body really was such a fragile thing. Ribs just didn't like it when you knocked them around.

"So what do you think we should do?" Sam asked lowly, and Dean could feel the vibration of his voice through the hands still pressed to his side.

Dean opened his eyes again to find Sam worriedly watching him. "Something tells me you're not going to let me just bump Andrew off," he commented.

"No," Sam answered simply.

"Thought so," Dean said. Lying with his head against the ground was making it hurt where he'd given it a good crack on the floor earlier so he steeled himself and abruptly sat up, forcing Sam to move back. Dean held his arm closely to his side, pressing against the wound. "So we've got to figure out how to get rid of Mr. I'm a tortured vampire, but I really don't mind killing and threatening people. After that we can tell the cops about these two." He nodded toward the bodies still sitting within only a few feet of them. "Then we'll have to see to them too."

"Are you all right?" Sam asked nervously.

"Fine as frog hair, Sam. Why wouldn't I be?" Dean was breathing shallowly to keep from aggravating his side. The position he was sitting in, however, was irritating his shoulder. "Wanna help me up?" He was feeling light headed and wasn't sure it was a good idea, but they needed to get this show on the road.

Sam practically leapt to his feet and helped Dean to stand, reverting to the same boy who had accidentally broken Dean's nose while they were training as kids. If Dean hadn't felt so lousy, he'd have called him on it. Sam stayed close by, hovering to make sure he could remain standing and Dean literally gave him a gentle shove to get him to move back.

"Ok, let's focus. Why isn't the vampire dead?" Dean asked, then shook his head. "Or rather, why isn't the vampire dead, dead?"

Sam visibly took a steadying breath and Dean could see him forcing his mind back to work. "I think it's the blood," Sam said, frowning.

"Huh?"

"Something he said made me think of it. When we cut its head off upstairs, all the blood soaked into the floorboards."

"Still not following," Dean said.

"To a vampire, blood is life. A vampire _is_ blood in a sense," Sam shrugged.

"So you're saying… part of the body is still here," Dean sighed, ignoring the shot of pain the action caused. "We're going to have to burn those floorboards."

"That's my best guess," Sam said.

"And he's going to just stand around while we do that?"

They both started at a scratching sound outside the room. Dean shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He'd heard Andrew pull something heavy in front of the door. They were going to be hard pressed to get it open. Something banged into the door, then low to the ground the muffled scratching sounds continued for several seconds, followed by a quiet hissing.

Dean groaned. "Great. Just _great_."

"What?" Sam asked, then stopped as he too caught the smell.

Gas. He was going to kill them without even having to come back in the room.

"Andrew!" Dean bellowed to the man on the other side of the door. "I am going to rip your arms off and beat you with them! You hear me?!"

Sam jerked off the shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and stuffed it beneath the door as quickly as he could, already starting to cough as the gas began to move into the room. He stood again and then he and Dean both looked around the small space, looking for a means of escape. At the exact same time, their eyes fell on it.

"Coal chute," they said together.

Dean pulled out his pocket knife, flipped it open and handed it to Sam who immediately went to work prying off the boards that were covering the old coal chute. They could only hope it was big enough for them to squeeze their way out of the basement.

In only a few seconds, Sam had the boards off, pulled some plastic sheeting and a bunch of insulation out and was trying to force the rusted metal chute to open outward.

"Dean?" Sam said uncertainly. "You're going to have to give me a boost for me to break this open. I can't get enough leverage from down here."

"Here," he handed Marigold to Sam. "Use her to break the chute open. Better than breaking your hand." Dean dropped to one knee allowing Sam to use the other as a step. For once grateful that his brother was freakishly tall, the extra foot was enough and after another minute of work Dean heard the chute grind open.

"Can you boost me any higher?"

"Put your foot on my shoulder," Dean grit his teeth and braced himself against the wall. "The good one preferably."

Sam stepped up onto the shoulder tentatively and Dean fought the urge to tell him to get back down. "Hurry up before you break my other shoulder," Dean barked at him. "You're not exactly Tinkerbell."

Sam didn't answer only pulled himself up until he was high enough grab the edge of the chute. He finally pushed off with his foot and Dean grunted at the extra effort it took to stay upright. He suddenly felt woozy and leaned more heavily against the wall.

Dean was so tired… Bed. That was what he needed. Sometimes he was so tired he daydreamed about sleeping. He loved sleeping. And a pillow. He _loved_ a good pillow. Finding a good pillow was like finding an old friend.

Dean coughed and the fire that seemed to spread through his entire body brought him wide awake, his side, his shoulder and his head all pulsing in pain.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted and he realized from the tone it probably wasn't the first time Sam had said it. "Dean, you gotta stand up, man, or I can't reach you!" he added urgently.

Dean looked up to see that Sam had made it out of the basement. It looked like he'd completely broken out the metal chute and its frame to leave a ragged hole in the wall. Sam was leaning back through it, his hand held out toward him as Dean struggled to his feet.

Another choking cough struck and Dean doubled over, holding his injured side.

"Dean, _please_," Sam begged, "just take my hand."

Dean ordered himself to straighten. No matter how this played out, it was gonna hurt. Reaching up his good arm he caught Sam's hand. Without giving him time to even think about it, Sam grasped him firmly and pulled. Dean banged into the wall, but tried to help as well as he could despite his side scraping agonizingly along the wall as Sam pulled him up.

A second later, he took in a gasp of fresh air. Even without the gas, he'd been in the musty basement with the bodies long enough to forget how fresh air felt. The joy of fresh air was abruptly cut off, however, when his side grated across the chute's sill and Dean instantly felt pain stab through the wound and fresh blood begin to soak into his shirt.

Sam laid him out on the grass and immediately pressed his hands back to Dean's side, guilt again written on his features.

"I wish you wouldn't make that face," Dean gasped out.

"What face?" Sam asked, refusing to look at him.

"You look like you have a digestive problem."

Sam stopped moving for just a second and then finally raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "Jerk," he said quietly, but then a slight smile appeared and Dean saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. He remained where he was though, keeping pressure on the bullet track across Dean's ribs.

Several minutes passed in silence as Dean's head cleared and the pain fell to more manageable levels. "What do you think about waiting until morning to burn those floorboards?" he asked. Sunrise was maybe an hour away. That would give them some prep time as well as eliminate the problem of the vampire ghost trying to kill them while they worked.

Sam nodded. "Sounds good to me. We'll find a hotel and get you patched up first. I can come back and burn the floor, then a quick call to the cops." He raised his hands and took a look. "Bleeding's slowed. Come on. Let's get you to the car."

Without waiting for Dean's assent, he got behind him, put both of his hands beneath Dean's arms and pulled him to his feet. Dean's head swam, but Sam stayed beside him, holding him upright until he was sure he wouldn't fall back over.

"Thanks," Dean said gruffly.

"I'm the one who shot you," Sam muttered. "I'm pretty sure it's bad karma to let you fall on your face too."

"Dude," Dean pointed to Sam's face and then patted his own stomach. "Pepto. Does wonders."

Sam huffed in annoyance, "Let's go."

Dean looked around himself worriedly. "Where's M… my shotgun?"

"Right here," Sam said with a knowing smile, picking her up and handing her to Dean.

They both looked up, hearing an unnatural piercing scream come from inside the house. Only it wasn't the woman voice.

"The kid," Dean breathed and began to run toward the front of the house.

* * *

_The showdown's next. Regretfully, I might not be able to post it tomorrow. If not, then site willing it will be up Monday._


	7. Chapter 7

**Boxed In**

_Special thanks to those of you who sent along their kind encouragement. So… here you have it. One showdown…_

Chapter Seven

* * *

Dean ran ahead of Sam and tried the front door, but without success. He turned around and Sam thought he looked like someone had just sucker punched him.

"What?" Sam asked, worriedly looking him over. Dean was breathing too carefully, half bent over holding his side. Even in the dim light Sam could see the dark bloodstains covering Dean's t-shirt.

Sam still couldn't believe what had happened. In the split second after he'd fired the gun, he'd felt his heart stop. In slow motion, Andrew had pulled Dean right back where he had been and used him as a shield. That was when he's seen Dean fall and his own heart fall with him.

When he'd tried to shoot Dean at the asylum he'd just been angry that the gun hadn't been loaded. But this time he'd been fully aware of what he'd just done. Dean was all he had left and he could have killed him. His brother still hadn't seen the ragged bullet track across his ribs, but Sam's hands were beginning to shake again just thinking about it.

"You all right?" Sam asked, swallowing heavily.

"I…"

"What?" Sam asked again, fighting down panic. "Tell me!"

"You're going to have to kick in the door," Dean grimaced. "I can't manage it." He looked downright disgusted with himself and Sam let out a choked laugh, relief washing through him. He really didn't know if he could handle any more disasters right now.

"Don't get used to it," Dean eyed him. "I get the chicks and I get to kick in doors. It's the natural order of the universe."

"Got it," Sam smiled and backed up to give himself some room.

"And stop smiling," Dean ordered.

"Right." Sam raised a foot and kicked with all his strength, aiming for the lock.

The door broke open with a crash just as another childish scream came from inside the house. Dean brought his shotgun up and then looked at it, frowning. "Crap." He threw the car keys to Sam. "You'd better get the gas out of the trunk. The guns are only gonna work on Andy."

Sam nodded and ran for the car, hurriedly digging out the gas can and a canister of salt. As he returned he saw Dean leaning against the house, bent over with his hands on his knees. Guilt washed over Sam again, but he fought it back. Now wasn't the time. He would have to make it up to Dean later although he had no idea how.

Amazingly, Dean didn't seem to be angry. He didn't even seem annoyed. Which reminded Sam yet again that he would never really understand his brother.

Dean abruptly straightened when he heard Sam's tread on the porch stairs. He gave Sam a short nod to say he was ready then raised his shotgun and turned, heading into the house. "He'll be in the same room he was before," he said grimly and Sam silently nodded his agreement although Dean couldn't see it.

They quickly worked their way to the large living room at the rear of the residence. Walking in, they found the vampire much as he had been last time, only this time he was standing, his hands locked around the shoulders of a young fair-haired boy about ten years old. Sam stayed back toward the entryway, but Dean walked in, his shotgun aimed and ready.

"I thought we had a deal," Dean said through clenched teeth.

"We do," the ghost replied in the hollow echoing tone that Sam was growing to hate. "I am simply ensuring that you keep your end of the bargain. Young Joshua is going to stay here with me while you take care of business."

"You said you would leave them alone."

"And I will as long as you take care of Andrew." He smiled that same awful grin, the one that said 'I am so much smarter, faster and meaner than you are'. "My time is limited and I'm not stupid enough to think that you won't need some encouragement to finish the job quickly."

The child looked panicked, the small ghostly figure flickering like a weak florescent bulb. His wide, frightened eyes were locked on Dean's shotgun.

"Please," the boy said, "Please don't hurt me." He held out his hands protectively in front of him as best he could with Morgan holding him. "_Please_!"

Sam saw the color drain from Dean's face as he watched the boy frantically try to free himself.

Andrew ran into the room, revolver in hand and aimed it at Dean. "Put the gun down!" he ordered.

Sam, who had remained out of sight by the entryway, having expected just such an unwanted entrance, stepped forward and aimed his own handgun at Andrew. "Careful who you're ordering around, Andrew."

Dean remained where he was, aiming at the increasingly furious vampire. "I'll kill them both," he snarled. "I'll suck them dry and it will be your fault. All because you couldn't do one simple thing."

"He's right there," Dean growled. "Do it yourself."

"I don't have the energy," the ghost snapped. "I can't do more than hurt him. That's not enough."

"Daddy!" the child screamed. "Help me, please!"

As if just realizing what was happening Andrew stared dumbfounded at his own son. "Joshua?"

"Daddy," the child sobbed. "I'll be good, Daddy, I promise. Please. You don't have to punish me. I'll be good."

"Kill him!" Morgan ordered. "We had a deal!"

The child's eyes widened in near hysteria, thinking the vampire was talking about him. His terrified gaze locked with Dean's. "You can't! Please!" he begged, "Don't hurt me!" He began thrashing in the vampire's hold trying to break away.

Wounds blossomed on the child's chest, the old gunshot wounds reappearing as the boy continued to writhe and scream, unable to get away. As the blood spread, the ghost's breathing became wet, the labored sounds loud in the appalled silence, but still the child fought, trying to get away.

Dean's face twisted in anguish and Sam felt his own heart constrict painfully. Protecting those who couldn't protect themselves was so ingrained in their thinking that hearing the child plead for his life was torture. Especially when Sam knew what Dean was going to have to do. What Dean was about to do.

"I'm sorry," he heard Dean barely breathe out.

"No, PLEASE!" the child screamed. "NO!"

Dean held the shotgun white-knuckled and fired. The boy evaporated with an echoing scream filling the room. The shot spread salt in a wide spray across the floorboards around the vampire.

A ferocious, banshee-like wail filled the entire house, but no one moved. Sam still had a gun on Andrew who was aiming at Dean who still had the vampire in his sights. It was like a psycho version of a conga line.

A wind blew through the room, although there were no windows open and as it died, the woman appeared standing behind Dean, fury written across her features.

"_How could you_?" she screamed.

"Behind you!" Sam shouted, afraid the woman would attack Dean for shooting her son. She looked so real, so solid that Sam was amazed. Dean started to turn, but stopped when he saw she was looking at Andrew and not him.

"How _could_ you?" she screamed again.

Dean jumped when she appeared in front of him and put a hand against his side over the ragged bullet wound, the flickering movement so fast he hadn't seen it coming. "I'm so sorry, baby. Don't worry. Mommy's going to take care of it," she said and then turned burning eyes toward her husband.

"Enough!" the vampire roared. "Finish him!" He charged trying to grab the woman to use as another hostage. Instinctively Dean moved to block him and he and the vampire crashed to the floor. The vampire was only half-corporeal and Dean was simply outmatched, unable to effectively hold or hit. They twisted in a flurry of movement, fighting for control. The woman screamed furiously and leapt into the melee, viciously attacking the vampire.

Sam snatched the gun away from a stunned and frozen Andrew. He tucked it into his waistband and picked up the gas can and salt still sitting beside him. Sam pulled the caps off as he ran and then began liberally splashing the blood stained floor with both substances. Just as he heard a pained cry from Dean, he pulled his lighter from his pocket, flicked it open and threw it into the puddle, causing the gasoline to ignite with a whoosh.

Sam turned back to see the woman still fighting desperately to pry the vampire away from Dean who was almost limp in the vampire's grasp. Fresh blood was spreading across Dean's shirt mingling with the old, but Sam couldn't tell where it was coming from. Finally, the woman got her arm around the vampire's neck and pulled him back just as the vampire exploded in a cloud of fiery sparks.

Dean fell to the floor and lay deathly still. Sam moved to help, but stopped when the ghost flickered once, disappearing where she was, and then reappeared kneeling at Dean's side. "It's ok, sweetpea. Mommy's here," she cooed. Sam watched as she ran her hands over Dean's bloodstained chest, tears running down her face. Stepping closer, Sam could see the new wound through his brother's torn shirt. It looked like a bite wound. The vampire had ripped and torn near Dean's collarbone like a dog trying to rip into a hunk of meat.

Sam blinked and the ghost was on her feet moving toward Andrew like a lion stalking a wounded deer.

"Charity," Andrew said, nervously backing away. "That's not Joshua. I didn't do anything to him. You stay back!"

"All I wanted was to leave, find someplace safe for me and Joshua and you do this? You've hurt my son for the last time, Andrew," she said fiercely. "Do you understand me?"

"Charity," he said, still backing away finally running into the wall. "Charity, please. I didn't mean for it to end like that. You made me so angry. I couldn't help it."

She leapt at him. One second she was five feet from him, the next she was on him. Her hand passed right through into his chest. Andrew screamed and clawed at her arm trying to move it.

She tilted her head to one side, watching him. "Andrew… you broke my heart. I think you need to know what that feels like."

Andrew's scream abruptly died away and his face went slack. The woman withdrew her hand from his chest and he slumped over, landing heavily on the floor with a meaty thunk.

Charity turned and ran back to Dean. She sat down near him and pulled him into her lap so that she could put her arms around him and rest his head against her chest. It looked so like the position they had found the bodies in downstairs that Sam was startled.

"Sweetpea," she said sadly, brushing a hand through Dean's hair. "Honey, can you hear me?"

Dean groaned and shifted, weakly raising a hand toward his chest. "Wh… what happened?"

"It's ok," she reassured him. "He won't hurt you anymore."

"Hurts," Dean mumbled and Sam fought the urge to rip him out of the woman's grasp and run for it. He didn't know how she would react to anyone else taking her 'son' though.

"Shhh…. Just hold still, baby. I know it hurts," she said, still slowly brushing a hand through his hair.

Dean sighed and let his hand fall away from his chest. "Mom."

Sam could see that Dean was barely conscious. He was hurt. He was confused. It was still heartbreaking to see the sudden expression of absolute faith and peace on his brother's face. It was like every bit of pain and trouble was bearable now, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he could rest now.

Sam knew he ought to look away at such an exposed, unguarded expression, knowing Dean had never meant for him to see it. Dean was a mess, injured and barely awake, and yet for once completely unburdened. It was something Sam wasn't sure he had ever managed to do for Dean in all of their years together. Sam didn't know if it was even possible since he was one of those burdens.

"Missed you," Dean whispered.

"Hush, sweetpea," she said softly.

"S'ok," he murmured. "Not your fault. Had to go."

The woman pulled him more tightly to her. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean opened his eyes and if Sam had thought his brother's first reaction was heartbreaking, seeing all of his barriers slam back into place, seeing the burden of who Dean was resettle almost like a physical weight onto his shoulders was enough to almost bring Sam to tears.

She was rocking him and for just a moment Sam could see that Dean didn't want to move, he wanted to stay and feel a mother's love, any mother, but Dean was awake now and he knew it wasn't their mom holding him.

"It's my fault, baby. It's my fault," she began to repeat over and over.

"It wasn't your fault," Dean said softly. "What happened wasn't your fault." He looked at her and their eyes met. "I'm sorry." Sam wasn't sure what he was sorry for. For thinking he was her son? That her son had died in the first place? That her husband had killed her too? Dean sat up, painfully, and moved back from her.

"What's the matter, baby?" she said worriedly.

Dean didn't answer and tears began to flow freely down her face again. "Don't be mad, honey. I won't leave you this time," she said, her voice breaking. "Not this time."

"Charity?" Sam said. "What happened before?"

"I died," she whispered desolately. "I died first. I was holding you. I knew I needed to stay with you, but I died first."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, grief written on his features. "Not your fault," Dean said again. "Sometimes… sometimes, it just happens."

Charity sat forward. She put her hand against Dean's cheek and leaned so that her forehead was touching his. "My brave boy," she whispered. "Always so brave for Mommy."

The fire was spreading from the original pool of gasoline. It had already caught the sofas on fire and was spreading up the curtains. The rug Andrew had fallen onto was beginning to burn and Sam didn't really want to be around when Andrew's clothes caught fire. A few more minutes and the wooden flooring would burn through into the basement. He _really_ didn't want to be around when the gas downstairs caught.

"Dean," Sam whispered.

Dean gestured vaguely with a hand and Sam knew he was aware enough to realize the fire was spreading around them.

Charity was still sitting with her forehead against Dean's. She leaned back just a touch and kissed his cheek. "I love you, sweetpea."

Sam saw Dean close his eyes and swallow heavily. "I'll be all right now. It's ok for you to go."

"Baby?" She was already starting to fade.

"It's ok," Dean said again. "He won't hurt either of us anymore. We're both safe now."

Charity faded away to nothing, her hand slipping away from Dean's cheek as she disappeared and Sam saw Dean lean into it, just barely, as the sensation of her hand against his cheek faded with her.

Sam saw a glimmer of movement and turned back toward Andrew to see the little boy sitting cross-legged beside his father. The child reached out and patted Andrew's back. "Mommy says we're leaving now, Daddy. I'm sorry." The boy flickered one last time and was gone.

Sam hurried to Dean's side and dragged him to his feet. "Come on, Dean. Time to go." He pulled one of Dean's arms over his shoulders and headed for the door, not stopping until he unceremoniously threw him into the passenger seat. Sam ran around the car and got into the driver's seat, put the car in drive and roared away from the house.

Dean had picked up Marigold before Sam had pulled him to his feet and he sat in the car with her in his lap. As always Sam was amazed at his brother's attachment to the shotgun. It was like a security blanket or a teddy bear, only lethal.

They had just pulled out onto the road when Sam heard the explosion as the fire hit the gas filled room in the basement. No need to call the cops now. Andrew was dead and anything that was left of the ghosts would burn away with the fire.

* * *

_An epilogue tomorrow…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Boxed In**

_Here ya go… All finished. Hope y'all enjoyed it._

Chapter Eight

* * *

Sam looked at Dean where he lay on the motel bed, the covers pulled up to his shoulders. He was stitched and bandaged and sleeping peacefully on his back. He had been very quiet the entire time Sam had been patching him up. Beyond the odd 'how's that?', 'need another pill?' and 'better?', Sam had left him to his thoughts.

Dean's face was relaxed in sleep, without the lines of stress Sam saw so often despite Dean's efforts to mask them. He was such a mixture of patience and impatience, need and standoffishness, bravado and anxiety. Sam couldn't help watching him, as if maybe studying his brother would help him understand the man.

Sam watched the slow, even rise and fall of Dean's chest as he breathed in and out. Guilt allowed him to see through the blankets to the heavy bandages covering the line of stitches running along Dean's ribs. Dean still hadn't said another word about it. Hadn't yelled at him, hadn't even made fun of him. Sam didn't know if it was just Dean's normal reticence about discussing anything other than guns and cars or if he was so angry with him he was going for the silent treatment. That or he was just too preoccupied with what had happened to bother with his guilt-ridden brother right now. Sam knew Dean needed to rest, but he almost wished Dean would wake up and talk to him.

"Sam?"

Sam jumped in his chair, startled by Dean's voice in the quiet room.

"You know how I can't sleep with someone watching me thanks to my finely honed hunter skills?" he asked, still without opening his eyes.

"Yeah," Sam answered and he could feel himself blushing.

"Cause I can't sleep right now and I could really use some."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled.

"Cause I had kind of a rough night," Dean added, his tone light.

"I get it. I'll leave you alone."

"Cause I don't know if you know it, but somebody shot me."

Sam went very still. Here it was. Finally. "Shot you, huh? Must've been a real jerk."

Dean snorted and then grimaced as it jostled his injuries. He still had his eyes closed and Sam was grateful. As long as he kept them shut, they could talk without it being too personal.

"You kick his ass?"

A half-smile crossed Dean's lips. "Maybe later."

Sam frowned uncomfortably. Dean being understanding about it was making him feel even guiltier. "Well, you let me know if you need any help."

Dean fell silent and nestled down farther into his pillow. Sam thought he'd fallen asleep again until he turned his head toward him and opened his eyes. Sam immediately felt the heavy weight of that earnest gaze, as if just by opening his eyes Dean's full personality had entered the now somehow smaller room.

"Accidents happen, Sammy."

"I know, but…"

"You remember when you flushed the .22 I gave you?"

"Yeah," Sam said shamefacedly. He'd been just a little kid and the gun had fallen out of his pocket at _exactly_ the wrong time.

"Did I get mad at you then?"

"Other than all the swearing?" Sam raised an eyebrow, "No not really."

"When you set my duffel bag on fire with the flares and got us thrown out of the motel?"

Sam only shook his head. Dean had lost every stitch of clothing he'd owned and they'd had to sleep in the car. Sam still felt guilty about that one.

"When you stole Molly Ingersol?"

Sam's head snapped up. That had been his senior year and he'd had no idea Dean liked her.

"It _was_ an accident, wasn't it?" It was amazing how threatening Dean could look while virtually incapable of movement and tucked under covers.

"Totally," Sam nodded.

"Better have been or you're walking to our next gig," Dean muttered. "How about when you shot that raccoon for some weirdo reason and got us picked up by the park rangers?"

Sam tried not to look incensed. That raccoon had been _evil_. He would still swear to it. Even so, after a few threats about revoking his gun privileges, Dean had spent their entire time in lock-up cheerfully humming _Rocky Raccoon_.

"So what makes you think I'm gonna smack you around this time?"

Sam shrugged, feeling like he was six years old and being interrogated by their dad.

"I worry you that much?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam couldn't help the small smile that appeared. "You do have a tendency to shoot things you're angry with."

Dean brought a hand up and scrubbed it over his face as if thinking. "You're right, Sam. Where's my gun? Fair's fair."

Sam looked at Dean's suddenly blank face. "What?"

"You're not going to quit brooding until I shoot you so get me a gun. Where you want it? Arm? Leg? I don't want you actually laid up, just less angsty."

* * *

Sam's expression was priceless and Dean couldn't stop the grin that spread across his own face. He'd laugh if he didn't think it would hurt so badly. The vampire had done everything he could to snap his collarbone, bit right into it. Only one night's work and from his neck to his waist, his chest felt like it was on fire. He could only imagine how much worse it would be if he hadn't flirted with the doctor and gotten those pills.

"I suppose I could take off an ear," Dean said thoughtfully. "You never did listen too well."

"All right, all right," Sam said. "Point taken."

"You sure?" Dean asked. "I can still shoot you. I don't mind."

"Shut up, Dean."

"I'm just saying… I'm here for you, man."

Without thinking Sam threw the remote he had been holding and Dean instinctively caught it one handed.

Sam looked startled and Dean closed his eyes, the movement having set off every nerve ending he owned. "Careful there, Sammy," he said through clenched teeth. "My mercy has limits."

"Sorry," he heard Sam mumble.

"Yeah, well I wasn't really in the mood for TV anyway," Dean sighed. He tossed the remote onto the nightstand and tucked his hand back under the covers.

"Cold?"

"A little." Cold, tired. Lost. "Sam, lay down or something," Dean urged. "Stare at the ceiling. Or do something freaky and sleep for once."

Sam sighed and Dean turned his head back so that he was facing up. He just wanted to sleep, but the image of the woman and her son, locked and dying in that little room wouldn't leave him, nor would the sensation of the ghost's arms around him, her voice soothing him.

His eyes still closed, Dean listened as Sam pulled the covers back and then sat down on the other bed. He heard the familiar sounds of him pulling his shoes off and pitching them across the room toward his bag. Sam then sat there silently for several moments.

"Ten bucks says you're making that face again. Either lay down or get my gun, Sam," Dean said, his tone disgruntled.

Sam chuckled and Dean heard the bed springs move as his brother stretched out.

The woman and child in the basement flashed before his eyes again. Dying, locked in a tiny room. What did you do when you had no choice left but to accept your fate? Scream? Kick something? Bang on the walls?

Andrew had tried to lock them in, but they'd gotten out. The vampire had tried to trap them into his deal, but they'd managed to get around it. And yet he still felt cornered, boxed in.

Their life… and all that it entailed…

"It is what it is," Dean whispered to himself.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing." He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. For just a second he could feel the phantom sensation of Charity's hand against his cheek.

Dean settled further into the bed, burrowing into the pillow. It was a good pillow. Maybe they could stay here for a couple of days.

"You ok?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean thought about it for a second before answering.

Orphan, crappy job, odds of a long life almost nil…

What did you do when you had no choice left but to accept your fate?

"Dean?"

He heard the worry in Sam's voice, the honest concern, and he knew the answer. What did you do? You followed Charity's example. You held on to the only person left that mattered.

"S'ok, Sam. Go to sleep." Dean sighed contentedly and felt himself begin to drift off. He might be stuck, but he could hold onto his brother. He'd hold onto Sam. It was simple, but it was the truth. And the truth would set you free.

* * *

_And there you have it. Hope it kept you amused for a little while. Thanks to everyone who made it this far and for every single word of encouragement._


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